i like it here
i speak my lines i deliver them and there is no one to listen
how do i know you listening?
but even if i know you are there
it does not really matter
i am here only to speak
and i do not want to hear you talking back
i like it here
this place is simply perfect
for my circumlocution
my monologue
the way i speak to the moon
when the stars are so silent and unminding
the way i talk to the river when it simply passes by its banks
the way i talk to a stone, a tree, a pole, a cloud,
the way i talk to a glass one day whose water i have all drank
the way i talk to a horse, a dog, a cat,
or even to a pillow all wet with my tears.
i like this monologue.
i burst and then i live anew
for another day
tomorrow.
yes, i like it too
talking to your picture that i keep many years ago.
black and white and scented
with moth balls.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem